


Flour and Ink

by murdur



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, F/M, Fluff, Romance, bakery and tattoo shop owners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 06:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8361064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdur/pseuds/murdur
Summary: Loki knows the regular customers of his little bakery fairly well. This attractive, tattooed woman is definitely not one of them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of a [tumblr prompt](http://psychoticgirl.tumblr.com/post/152216961726/you-mentioned-you-might-take-writing-suggestions): you planned to bake your way into my pants but instead you baked your way into my heart and im not letting you or your lemon tarts go au.
> 
> Meant to be short, but it got out of hand. Whoops. 
> 
> [Please check out the lovely Isaac's graphic that he made at my suggestion/to go with the fic!](https://marvelsamwilson.tumblr.com/post/150746184899/sifki-aesthetics-suggested-by-psychoticgirl)

Breathing in the scent of fresh muffins and wiping flour from his palms onto the apron slung around his hips, Loki was pulled out of his mid-morning lull by the tinkling bell above the door at Ingrid’s.

Loki was fairly used to his regular customer base, typical of the sleepy little neighborhood his 4 table bakery was tucked into, which included mainly elderly couples looking for a taste of their home country, and hipster 20-somethings who spent more time instagramming their food and struggling through their black coffees than maybe truly enjoying his offerings.

The woman who walked in from the crisp fall morning was definitely not a regular.

Clad in a maroon tank top with a silver scarf, her heavy black boots marched quickly towards the counter, a far cry from the regular young adults who slouched in over-sized sweater and giant glasses pretending to be blase about everything in front of them. Her bare arms were absolutely covered in tattoos, a splash of black and pops of color swirling around her skin. She was pale, contrasted by her dark hair and even darker leather leggings full of rips that showed glimpses of even more tattoos. And she was strikingly, undeniably attractive.

As if reading his thoughts, she threw him a withering look as she approached the counter he stood behind. Loki did his best to recover from being so caught off guard, and from getting caught staring, and flashed her a brief smile as she bent down to survey his case full of freshly baked products.

“Good morning,” Loki called in a voice that seemed much too high, too chipper. Getting butterflies over a pretty girl was ridiculous. He cleared his throat and deliberately lowered his voice. “Let me know what I can get you.”

“What the fuck,” whispered the woman from her crouch. Not the response he was expecting.

“Pardon?” Loki asked lamely. Pardon? Who was he, his grandfather?

“What the _fuck_ ," she said louder, her voice a scratchy warm tone, “- is any of this? Are these labels even English? That doesn’t look like any crumb cake I’ve ever seen.”

Loki followed her pointing finger to gaze down into the glass case.

“That’s _krumkake_ ,” he said rather stupidly. Why did she have to be so beautiful.

“That’s not crumb cake. That looks like a waffle cone.” She raised her eyebrows at him, obviously questioning his literacy skills and possibly his sanity.

“Well yes, it is. Sort of,” he stumbled, feeling flustered under her intense gaze. “It’s Norwegian. This is a Scandinavian inspired bakery.” He flicked his hand around the room, gesturing towards the painting of fjords on the walls and the large menu board above the counter. “Most of the labels have a description of the product under the name.”

“Oh. Well do they drink coffee in Norway? I could really use a cup to help get me through today.”

“ _Kokekaffe_ ,” Loki blurted, pointing to the menu board for “steeped coffee”. He could feel his face turning red, wishing he could manage more than single words in this stranger’s presence. “I’ll, uh, put the kettle on. Please take a seat.”

“A kettle?” She laughed, unwinding the scarf from around her neck, displaying even more ink creeping from below her collarbone, drawing his eyes inappropriately lower. He swallowed hard. “How old school.”

“Traditional,” he blurted. He turned quickly away from her puzzled face, walking quickly towards the stove. “It’s tradition.” Loki was going to bake a giant sheet cake this afternoon. And then he was going to eat it. _Get it together, Odinson._

The woman plucked a napkin out of holder on the counter as she slid into one of the two high seats facing his workspace. Loki tried not to stare as she reached over the counter to fish a pen from his cup near the register and began to doodle on the flimsy paper.

He calmed himself, trying to regain his composure, in the ritual of the coffee steeping. Meticulously pouring the dark brew from his mother's old worn kettle into the cup without spilling a drop. He snagged a _krumkake_ from the case and slid it onto the saucer before gingerly presenting the coffee before. His hands were definitely not shaking.

The woman lifted the cup to her lips, inhaling deeply before letting the liquid pass over her lips.

“Holy balls,” looking up at him with a smile. “Now that’s a cup of coffee. None of that pumpkin spice bullshit that is assaulting this country.”

He barked a laugh out. “No, I suppose pumpkin spice wouldn’t be considered traditional.”

“Looks like I just found my new favorite place for a cup of joe. Mmm, god,” she mumbled, biting into the crunchy dessert. “And pastries too. How have I never been here before?”

Loki tried to keep his grin from growing too large and shrugged. “Well most people who come in are from the neighborhood. Don’t think word has spread much farther than 5 or 6 blocks.”

“Sure but I’m right across the street.” She hooked her thumb, flashing several small tattoos gracing her fingers (one looked like a diamond or maybe a shield shape), towards the large window of the bakery. “I own Valkyrie Tattoo.”

Loki turned his gaze to the street, immediately recognizing the neon red sign of the small tattoo shop that lit the street most nights when he closed up shop.

“Oh,” he said with surprise, and not a small sense of delight. “We’re neighbors.”

“Speaking of, I should probably get over there. Thanks for the coffee, gonna need it for the day I have ahead of me. How much for the cup and the treat?” She rummaged around in her pocket but Loki waved her off.

“It’s on the house, one neighbor to another.”

“Thanks.” Her grin was more than worth the loss of a few bucks. “Hey, what time do you close? I’m always starving when I get off work.”

“Usually around five or so,” he began, watching her face fall and feeling his heart sink with it.

“Oh, too bad. I usually don’t get done with my last client until well past six.”

“I’ll be here,” he rushed. “Come by. I’m usually still here cleaning up and preparing some dough for the morning.” He could feel heat warming his cheeks again, but she gave him a lopsided smile.

“Maybe I will, uh...?” She reached her hand over the counter.

“Loki.” He took her hand, trying to ignore the way his heart leapt at the contact, her hand warm in his palm.

“Sif.” She grabbed her scarf and stood from her seat, giving him a small wave before heading out the door.

“Sif” he repeated to himself, reaching to clear her saucer from the counter and noticing the napkin etched with thin black markings. He picked it up and studied her doodle; a sketchy outline of his worn old kettle with its steam billowing out to spell “coffee” in loopy, elegant letters. His stomach flipped pleasantly, noticing the “o” had been stylized as a heart and he tucked the napkin into his pocket.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Loki meticulously wiped down counters and tabletops, arranged containers of flour and sugar with precision, and organized ingredients for the apple pie he planned to bake in the morning. Ingrid’s, his little shop was a labor of love and Loki took great pride in his creations as well as keeping the place spotless. He didn’t need to take over his father’s firm to provide a meaningful contribution to the city.

Trying not to glance out the big glass windows towards the neon lights of the tattoo shop across the street, nor at the clock that read 5:57, he sighed, setting the cup back into its proper place and tossing the rag to the side. Letting out a long breath and running a hand through his pushed back hair. He had to get rid of some of this nervous energy. What were the chances of her actually coming by tonight, anyway? She’d said maybe. And what chance did a guy like him have with a woman like that? For all he knew, she could be married, or only into people covered in as much ink as she was.

“Fuck it,” he sighed to himself, reaching for one of his cupcake pans and pulling sugar and butter out onto the counter. He did the one thing he knew would take his mind off things, which was baking. It didn’t take long for Loki to get lost in the act of creating, losing himself in the familiar actions of whipping, sifting, stirring.

Forty-nine minutes later he was gently whisking a thick, creamy caramel sauce in its pan, several mini cheesecakes cooling on his work counter, and his mind was totally blank and blissful.

The jingling of his bell startled the whisk right out of his hand, clattering against the counter and drowning out Loki’s surprised cursing.

“Oh my god it smells amazing in here.” The woman, Sif, walked towards the counter, inhaling deeply. “I’m so glad you’re still open, I’m starving.” She glanced around the empty bakery before furrowing her brow. “You are still open right? I can come back in the morning.”

“No!” Loki’s voice was louder than he expected. “I mean, yes. Yes, we’re still open. No you don’t have to go.” He tried to regain his composure, the sense of calm he felt just moments before. “Can I get you something to eat?”

Sif walked around to the counter seats in front of where the mini cheesecakes were cooling, shedding her coat and sliding onto a stool.

“Is cheesecake Scandinavian?”

“I believe it originated in Greece, actually.” He pulled out two small plates and set a cake on each, drizzling the caramel sauce on the top with a flourish. “But I think it’s rather universal at this point. And one of my favorites.”

He slid one plate across to her and picked up his own fork, trying not to smile at how eagerly she plunged her utensil into his creation. The caramel sauce was another of his specialties. There was something about the treat that was a bit naughty; rich and sticky, almost seductive.

“Mine too. And oh god,” she exhaled.

Loki tried not to let his knees buckle at the sound of her blissed-out groan, his heart fluttering madly at the sight of her letting the dessert melt on her tongue, her eyes closed. He hardly touched his own dessert, too caught up in watching her devour the rest of the cake with slow savor. He tried not to stare when she ran her tattooed finger along his emerald plate, catching every last drop of the sauce to suck off her finger.

The heat that exploded inside of him was deep and yearning. The past year, from the day he’d first opened the door to the bakery, Loki had been caught in the late night/early morning cycle of caring for his business. He ran nearly every aspect, leaving little time for much else, partly because he was too much of a stickler to give up that control to anyone else. When was the last time he’d went on a date? Been kissed? Gotten laid? He couldn’t recall, but he knew that he was now desperate to break that dry spell.

“That was delicious. Thank you,” she caught him staring and grinned, pulling a napkin out of the holder to quickly sweep across her mouth. He swallowed hard and pushed up the sleeves of his long shirt towards his elbows and reached for her empty plate.

She caught his wrist.

“Holy shit,” she yanked his arm towards her, pulling Loki forward across the counter.

“What?!”

“Your skin is _amazing_ ," Sif peered down at his exposed inner forearm with admiration. Loki’s heart jumped. Still holding onto his wrist with one hand, she brought her other hand up, dragging the tips of her fingers ever so lightly across the smooth expanse of his skin, circling from his wrist to the crook of his elbow and back again. All of his breath caught in his throat, Loki shivered under her delicate touch.

“Do you have any ink?” She looked up into his eyes, not releasing his wrist nor stopping the agonizingly delicious trail of her fingers. “Any tattoos?” His voice still caught, he tried not to stare at her lips leaning so close to her now, he could only manage to shake his head.

“You’re a tattoo artist’s dream. I would kill to work with a canvas like this.”

“Thank you,” he said rather weakly. Was she flirting with him? Did he even know how to flirt anymore?

She released his wrist and he tried not to show his disappointment at the loss of contact. “I should probably head out, it’s been a busy day.”

“No rest for the wicked,” Loki quipped and then mentally kicked himself for being so flippant. He was going to gorge himself on the rest of these cheesecakes as punishment tonight, what if she thought him rude? But Sif just grinned and fished a thick black Sharpie marker from her pocket and waved it at him.

“You would know. It seems like it’s only been you in here all day, slaving away behind this counter.”

He laughed at her perceptive comment. “Just me most of the time, yes. Owner and head baker. There is a kid who helps me out every once in awhile when I get a big event order.”

“So who’s Ingrid?” she dropped her gaze to her napkin, uncapping the Sharpie and pulling her marker across the thin paper in long strokes. “Your wife?”

“What? Oh um no. I’m not - “

“Girlfriend then? Maybe your middle name? Loki Ingrid...”

“No!” he blurted. The heat was rising up his cheeks again. He cleared his throat. “The bakery is named after my mother’s cat.”

Sif stopped her doodling and raised her eyebrows at him. “A cat?”

Loki shrugged. “That cat was fat and happy. Loved to share cream every morning with my mother. Seemed fitting.”

Sif laughed and seemed buoyed as she recapped her marker, rising from her seat. “That’s cute. So how much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Loki waved her off.

“Two free treats in one day? You’re gonna give a girl the wrong impression.”

Loki tried not to smile. Of course he more than wanted to give her that exact impression, the impression of interest, but he’d already made a fool of himself multiple times today and was eager to get back his normally cool demeanor.

“Honestly, you did me a favor. I haven’t had cheesecake on the menu in ages, I needed an unbiased taste-tester.”

“Is that an open position, because I’d love to apply if it means I get to be opinionated and get paid in your desserts.”

“I’m serious if you are, I could really use the help. Do you get off this time most Thursdays?”

“Yep, and Tuesdays too. Sign me up!”

“Consider it a date, er, deal,” Loki corrected, dreaming of drowning himself in caramel sauce.

“I look forward to it, Loki. Have a good night.”

“Good night, Sif,” Loki called as the door shut behind her, picking up the napkin she’d been doodling on and examining the sketch of his own profile, sharp nose and a lank of dark hair falling across his forehead, feeling his heart skip a beat.

 

* * *

 

 

And so began a new ritual. Every Tuesday and Thursday Sif came into his shop after she was done with her tattoo appointments for the day and sampled Loki’s newest creations. These after-hours visits were also joined by Loki giving Sif lessons in baking techniques and Norwegian pronunciations. In return, Sif gave Loki her feedback on treats that really hit and ones that fell flat, leaving behind her doodle on napkins. Loki now had a growing collection of her napkin art, pinned to the corkboard in his back office; sketches of his desserts, his utensils and bakeware, portraits of his regular customers, doodles of his trusty apron, his own long hands, his furrowed brow.

Several times a week, Sif came in for a steeped coffee in the morning, always gently teasing his battered kettle and meticulous brewing before heading across the street. Sometimes she’d put in an order for sweets for her shop, or he’d box up a cake and walk it across the street when she asked for a birthday surprise for one of the tattoo artists.

Sif shared the challenges that came with running and owning Valkyrie, one of only a few all-female employed tattoo shop in the nation. Loki learned all the tattoo artists’ names and baked good preferences. In turn, they all referred to him with good-natured teasing as Bread Boy and greeted him cheerfully into their shop.

Brunnhilde, Sif’s business partner and co-owner of the shop, was notorious for practically attacking him, running up and snatching the mint green pastry box stamped with Ingrid’s label from his hands whenever he entered, leaving it up to Sif to give Loki a proper greeting and payment for his goods.

Loki had never felt more alive since their meetings, totally invigorated to get up each morning, and motivated to push himself further in his craft than he ever had before. One night, when he was trying out the baked meringue dessert _pikekyss_ , or “girl’s kiss”, Sif asked if she could try her hand at his piping bag.

Loki enthusiastically invited her behind the counter, offering an apron to protect her black skinny jeans and plaid button-up but she waved him off, rolling up her sleeves in preparation and showing off the numerous tattoos that adorned her arms. Without stopping to consider his actions, Loki reached out and gently took her wrists, raising them towards his face. He’d admired her work over the past weeks, sometimes seeing full pieces proudly displayed by backless shirts, other times noticing designs that just barely crept out of her sleeves and collars of shirts. It all felt so grand and bold of a statement to have so much imagery on exhibit for the public to see, and yet so deeply intimate to be granted sight to items that resonated enough with her to be given permanent residence on her body. Sacred.

She stood stock-still, allowing him to examine her skin, following the intricate patterns of her sleeve art, a mix of imagery both powerful and delicate. He released one wrist and brought his fingertips to her skin, tracing the outline of a sprawling World Tree, elaborate knots, a long sword, entangled in graceful flowers and wheat stalks.

Noticing several small patches of skin that were void of any markings, Loki circled his fingers a slow loop around the blank space. “What goes here?”

He flicked his eyes up from his reverent tracings to hers, catching her shiver under his wandering touch.

“I’m saving it for something inspiring, something special.” Her voice was low, and there was something about her tone, honest and revered, that made his pulse quicken and his stomach flip. They held each other's gaze for a long moment before Loki finally released his grip with an unabashed smile and handed the piping bag to her, a strange sense of longing pulling at his heart.

 

* * *

 

 

They continued their routine deep into the autumn, until the air began to take on a more bitter chill. Sif’s presence in his little bakery shop had become an integral part of his day, so when she didn’t show up in the morning for a few days, Loki was disappointed, but tried not to dwell on the absence, assuming the growing notoriety of her tattoo shop was keeping her busier than usual.

However, when a few days turned into nearly a week, and she skipped their twice-weekly late-night meetings, Loki was less able to keep his mind from turning to darker thoughts. He tried to fill his days to the brim, baking bread loaf after loaf, anything to keep himself from falling into despair. His little place had never been cleaner, no counter top safe from his compulsive scrubbing. Never too, had he felt more dismayed.

Maybe he was silly, he thought on the 7th night that he locked up his door without seeing her face. Part of him had truly begun to believe that something was growing between them. But now, he realized how wrong he had been.

How easy was it for her to drop him as if nothing had been. He saw her nearly every day, sometimes multiple times a day. How had they never exchanged numbers?

Loki pulled the key from Ingrid’s locked door and took a deep breath of the cool night air. He crossed the street, heading towards the neon-lighted sidewalk beneath Valkyrie’s signage. He wouldn’t let his cowardice get the best of him. Why was she avoiding him? He’d confront her, and get her answer, and move on.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The clang of the tattoo shop’s bell startled him much less than Brunnhilde’s shouted greeting.

“Bread Boy! You are brave to enter my shop without an offering of treats in hand. What can I do for you?” The short, but nonetheless intimidating woman crossed the shop to meet him near the entrance.

“I’m, ah, looking for Sif. Have you seen her around?” He tried not to convey his distress, his hurt and shoved his hands into his pockets. Brunnhilde’s face looked confused and then suddenly split into a sort of horrified shock.

“Oh shit. Shit! Oh my god, Bread Boy, I totally forgot.I’m so sorry!”

“What?” Loki tried to keep up with her onslaught of apologies and hurried explanation.

“Sif asked me to - shit. Sif was in a fight last week. Well more self-defense really. Defending us from this asshole that came into the shop and started spewing a bunch of hateful shit, ranting and raving about how women don’t belong in this field and getting in our faces. I was about to grab my baseball bat to talk some sense into him but Sif just dropped him with a right hook before things could get any worse. She knocked him out cold, face down on the ground. Messed up her hand, so she took the week off. Pretty hard to tattoo with a busted hand. She asked me to run over and tell you but I got so caught up, I totally spaced it.”

Loki’s mind reeled at the information. Sif was hurt. Sif was safe. Sif had not forgotten about him. He hardly heard Brunnhilde’s voice continue on.

“I’m sorry Bread Boy. But Sif should be back on Monday morning if you wanted to book an appointment?”

 

* * *

 

 

Loki spent all day Sunday in anxious anticipation, slaving away behind his counter and becoming more and more resolute in his plan. Bright and early Monday morning, he turned the sign on his shop to “Be Back Soon”, ushering grumbling patrons outside with an apologetic smile and retreating into his back office. A moment later, he emerged onto the street, two green boxes tucked under one arm, his other hand absentmindedly fingering the thin paper carried in his coat pocket.

He greeted Sigrund at the little reception desk, stating his 8:00 am appointment, and followed her towards the back of the shop, gesturing for him to enter the small office.

Loki’s heart stopped at the sight of her, Sif seated behind a messy desk, deep in concentration sketching out a design on translucent paper. Her right hand had a clean bandage wrapped across her knuckles, but she didn’t appear to be in pain. In fact, Loki thought she looked radiant. Positively beautiful.

He cleared his throat and stepped deeper into the office. Smiling at her small startle of surprise. “Oh! Loki! Hello, I’m sorry Brunnhilde didn’t tell you,” she sprang out of her chair. Loki lifted the green Ingrid’s boxes and placed them on a bare space of her desk.

“I brought you something,” he opened the lid of the Get Well Soon cake and the box holding lemon tarts, her favorite dessert to show her. “It’s good to see you, Sif.”

“Thank you, Loki. It’s so good to see you too.” She crossed from behind her desk to stand in front of him, reaching a hand forward as if to touch, before pulling her arms back across her chest.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been in. I’ve been missing it, missing you. I was planning to stop in tonight after work. I’ve just been a little busy,” she held up her injured hand with an apologetic shrug.

“I know, and that’s why I made an appointment to come see you instead.”

“An appointment?” She furrowed her brow. “Wait, do you mean you’re my eight o’clock appointment?”

Loki fished his hand back into his coat pocket. Gently, he pulled the napkin out with a reverent touch, lifting it to display her sketch of his trusty kettle, the first and most beloved art she had gifted him.

“I want you to be the one to do it.” He pressed the napkin into her palm and shed his coat, pushing the sleeve of his sweater up to expose his left forearm, the place where she had traced her fingers all those nights ago. “The past few months spent with you have meant more to me than anything else in my life. I want you to do the tattoo.”

She was quiet for a long moment, looking a bit shocked at his request and his confession before her face broke out into a smile and she lifted a long hand to cover her giggling mouth. Before he could question her response, his napkin was gently placed on her desk and her own sleeve pushed up to her elbow. His eyes caught her new addition immediately, the tattoo shining and looking a bit tender. It was his kettle, a near identical match to the sketch he had just handed to her, gracing the previously blank space of her forearm his own fingers had traced just weeks before.

“These past months have been truly inspiring. I think I’m addicted, to your kokekaffe, to your desserts...” She raised her eyes to meet his. “Apparently we had the same idea.”

He balked, caught completely off guard and his heart hammered at what this meant. Slowly, he reached out and took her wrist in the circle of his long fingers, his other hand brushing gently across the outline of his kettle on her skin. He watched her shiver with half lidded eyes, her free hand raising up to touch his chest ever so gently. “Loki,” her voice was breathless, almost a question, a plea.

“Sif,” he answered, tugging her wrist behind his back to pull her body into his in a smooth, slow motion. One of his arms wrapped tight across her back to hold her flush against him, his other hand threading into her hair, feeling her breath stutter and watching her eyes flutter. He kissed her, deeply and fully with all the passion he’d felt growing for her. Her bottom lip was soft and plump caught between gliding lips and the sound of her moan, made him gasp. She returned his kiss with equal fervor, knowing just when to nip and roll at his bottom lip in a way that turned his limbs to jelly.

She pulled and turned them, lifting her bottom to sit on the edge of her desk, and hooked one of her legs up and around his thigh. He moved his attention to the curve of her jaw and down the line of her neck to find the dark flourish of ink at her collarbone, kissing and laving at it, feeling Sif’s hands claw at his shoulders and her breath hitch in his ear. He was overcome with the desire to trace his lips, his tongue across every one of the tattoos that adorn her, sliding one hand under the hem of her waffle knit sweater and tracing the tattooed skin of her hips under his thumb.

“Hey Sif -whoa!” Brunnhilde’s embarrassed interruption shot Loki upright, and he barely caught the cake box that Sif’s startled flail pushed towards the floor. Sif furiously tried to smooth her mussed hair, while Brunnhilde looked at the ceiling and backed out of the office. “I was gonna ask for help with a design, but I can figure it out. Maybe close the door next time. Nice to see you, Bread Boy!”

Sif and Loki looked at each other with flushed faces and laughed. She picked up the napkin and held her other hand out for him, “C’mon, let’s go work on this design. And then I have some ideas for ways to work up an appetite for those lemon tarts.”

Loki laughed and took her hand to follow her out to the floor. “Sounds delicious.”


End file.
